theoretical
by frizzoli
Summary: Maura lies, but only a tiny little bit. And only to help Jane on her way. Oneshot, femslash, super fluffy, set sometime in the beginning of the second season, pre Hoyt's return. J/M. Rated for obvious reasons.


_There is no self-help book with adequate resources that has been rigorously edited and published for explaining how to deal with being in love with your best friend._

As a general rule, Maura didn't believe in self-help books, because they had always seemed to her like they were badly written and filled with things that ought to be common sense. But she found herself in Barnes and Noble twice a week looking in vain for the answer to her predicament, hoping that nobody she knew would encounter her and reminding herself that she didn't actually know anybody that hung out in bookstores. Jane certainly did not.

Jane. In that simple one-syllable word, all of Maura's joys and problems crashed together. Almost everything in the past two years that had happened to her that she considered 'good'- almost every happy memory, that is- included or had been brought about by Jane Rizzoli. Sometimes they really didn't get along, but even then, they were stuck together like- well, not like glue, exactly, but some sort of human-socio-relationship equivalent.

Which had all been _fine_ until the shooting last year, when Maura ran out to see Jane crumple to the ground and the first thought she had was that she never got to tell the detective how she felt. It took her probably a day or two to figure out what that meant to her, and by the time she had, she was so far gone that it didn't matter anymore. And that was just the realization. It had been a year since then, and every time Jane (willingly) put herself into danger, it felt as if a part of the musculature of Maura's heart was being tugged. Physically speaking, that was impossible, but Maura was learning.

She was learning that sometimes it didn't matter if something was 'impossible' or technically incorrect. Jane was teaching her, in her own gruff-but-affectionate sort of way, that things didn't always have to be so literal. And Maura's love for Jane, unrequited as it was, did a lot to convince her that metaphors had their place. More than she'd ever believed they did, in the life of an MD.

She had always been attracted to women. It had never been an obstacle for her, because her parents had never exactly encountered it (they had no reason to because they were carefully uninvolved in Maura's life, both personal and professional) and because she had always had an open mind. She was a woman of labels, and her label for herself was bisexual. She was physically attracted to both men and women (though the men she generally slept with were often feminine, in their ways), but had never fallen in love with a woman before Detective Jane Rizzoli.

As a doctor and a woman raised outside the social-norm bubble, Maura had been absolutely prepared to approach Jane about her feelings as soon as she had come into realization about them, but what gave her pause was the possibility of Jane's sexuality. Well, not her sexuality, but her gender preference (which were two very distinct things in Maura's mind). After a year of spending day after day with the detective, she was fairly sure that Jane was confused with such things. And while Maura certainly would not have minded…._fixing_ that, or helping, at least, she had read that it was better to let the person figure it out for themselves.

The problem with that was that Jane was frustratingly stubborn and insisted she was attracted to men and men only, even after turning down date after date from (attractive and well-meaning) man after man, posing as a lesbian (very convincingly) undercover, and generally exhibiting lesbian tendencies, if the stereotypes were at all accurate. Maura was not content to sit by idly and wait for Jane to get her (metaphorical) head out of her (metaphorical) ass. She had to do something, or she'd lose her mind completely.

So she hinted. And she did it blatantly, blatantly enough that Frost and Korsak picked up on it. The longer she hinted, the more confident she was that Jane was, at the very least, attracted to her. Lingering glances and generous physical contact (although Jane, as an Italian born and bred, was expected to be touchy) gave her that idea, and that idea gave her another idea, as ideas usually do.

When Maura first shows up at Jane's door with Bass in a little red wagon behind her and a suitcase, she considers closing the door and going back to sleep.

But then Maura does that stupid thing she always does with her stupid face and there's nothing to do but sigh, roll her eyes, and let them in. _ No balls, Rizzoli,_ she tells herself. _You have no balls._ But it's not about that. She can't say no to Maura, she never has, not really, and she probably never will.

And Maura knows this- it's why, when her house flooded, she went straight to Jane's. Aside from the fact she had nowhere else to go, it was easier than going to a hotel or something, and she's curious as to whether Jane's pillows actually smell like Jane does (Altoids and coffee, which she knows from wearing her clothes that one time). Her hypothesis is yes, but hypotheses require rigorous testing, and while Bass was certainly enjoying the lake in her living room, she wasn't.

"God, do I even _want_ to know?" Jane groans, giving the tortoise a wary look. Maura lifts him out of the wagon and puts him on the ground. He doesn't move. Jane can't blame him. As usual, Maura completely misses the rhetorical question and barrels right on through with a grin on her face. "My house flooded," she informs Jane with an interestingly chipper tone. "Well, a pipe burst, and the living room is a foot underwater. The plumbers should be able to come out tomorrow, they said."

"Why didn't you go to a hotel or something?" she grumbles in reply, going to the fridge to get a beer (she figures she's going to need one. Or two, or a lot more than that). Despite what comes out of her mouth, she can't help but be flattered that she was the first person Maura came to. "Isn't it late for that?" Maura says from over her shoulder, nodding at the beer.

She knows the answer though, and when it comes she's not surprised – "are you kidding me? It's barely eleven. I'm up all night." Jane always struck her as a night owl. What she doesn't know is that Jane had been asleep since nine before the doorbell buzzed. She watches as Jane unscrews the cap to the drink and takes a long swig, unsure of what to do or say. She realizes she's been staring when Jane gives her a weird look. "What?"

"Do you have strawberries?" She blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. Jane's weird look gets weirder and Maura has a strange feeling that things are different tonight. "Uh, I dunno," her friend says slowly, "I don't actually eat a lot of…fruit stuff. But I can check, why?" Behind Maura comes a shuffle as Bass starts a slow path out of the foyer, answering her question before she can open her mouth. Jane's mouth falls open and she stands up straight, crossing her arms. "Uh-uh, no. I am not feeding that thing. And neither are you, because when something goes in, something comes out, and I did not consent to turtle crap all over my apartment."

The idea of turtle poop disgusts Jane simply on the principle that the thing looks like a god-dammed dinosaur. She's dealt with slimy crooks, she's been shot more than once, and beaten a guy with a softball bat, but turtle poop is a no-go. Tortoise. Turtle. Whatever.

"Technically," Maura interjects, "it takes at least three hours for Bass to digest anything, and even then it's not guaranteed that he'll-" Jane cuts her off, waving her hands in a 'time-out' motion, shaking her head. "God, ew, no, don't even go there. No food is going in the turtle. No poop is coming out of the turtle. Capiche?" As she blinks Maura notices an eyelash on her cheekbone, and, as prone as she is to doing things _after_ she thinks them through completely, somehow her hand goes out without her permission to take it between her thumb and forefinger. Jane's mouth falls open yet again and there is a long, awkward moment of silence before Maura clears her throat and says weakly, "You had an eyelash."

She expects Jane to make some joke along the lines of _Yes actually I have a lot of eyelashes_ but the other woman just closes her mouth and turns back to her beer, taking another drink before settling her eyes on Maura once more. She had never been touched physically as much as she's been in her time as Maura's friend. It's a part of their relationship that still surprises her sometimes, because sure, she and Frankie would punch and shove and kick each other as kids, but hugging and things like that were totally foreign to her. And it wasn't like Maura was running around giving hugs for free or anything, either, but despite her better judgment Jane can't help but think that occasional hug is kind of sweet. Goofy, but sweet.

There's another awkward moment of silence between them that neither of them can quite figure out, because they're usually talking. Jane is the one who breaks it this time. "Will you sit down or something? You're making me nervous."

And just like that she's said too much. Maura can tell because Jane's cheeks color slightly, just at the cheekbone, just where that eyelash had been. She's never made Jane nervous before, as far as she knows, and she's not sure whether to be proud of herself or to be massively confused. So she's a little of both. And when she shrugs and heads into the living room where Bass is making his way across the carpet, taking a graceful seat on the couch, Jane decides that its probably a good idea to address _why_ Maura is making her nervous.

She can't quite pinpoint it until she sits down on the couch and is suddenly very aware of the space or lack thereof between them. Again, Maura shocks the hell out of Jane by speaking. "Has anyone ever told you," she asks, very quietly, "that you have a very distinct philtrum?" Jane says nothing, but Maura's pretty sure that nobody's eyebrows should ever physically arch that high. Jane is about to say something when, to her surprise, Maura reaches out and touches her upper lip with her fingertip- just gently, just for a second, and then Jane is left wondering if it even happened. The tingling in her lips says it did. She wants it to stop. "The vertical groove on your upper lip is called the philtrum," Maura breathes.

Jane is done for.

She's done some pretty ridiculous things in her life. She's made some really stupid choices, and she's made plenty of spur-of-the-moment decisions, but this has to take the cake, because before she can even think about it, she's moved an inch and her lips crash into Maura's (so this apparently means that their philters or whatever are touching, who cares- they're _kissing_). And as weird as she knows that should be, it's totally not weird.

For once in her life, Maura is in complete agreement with Jane. Honestly, all the times she's ever kissed someone have been relatively dull. She has always secretly believed that intimacy is silly and disappointing when it comes right down to it, something that early humans had to do to reproduce that modern humans chase after just because they feel they should, when by this point their species should have grown out of that.

But kissing Jane? Maura gets it now. This is why people touch. They've been friends for a long time- why haven't they thought of this before? Maura leans into the kiss, into Jane, who seems to be trying to prove something to herself. Not that Maura minds.

What Jane is trying to prove to herself is that this doesn't feel good. Or at least not as good as it feels like it feels, which makes no sense, but this can't be right. She's not even into women like that. The rational part of her brain (which, granted, is not a large percentage of her brain) is telling her she doesn't have to be into women to be into Maura. And is she? Has she been fooling herself? Screw it, this is too good to be anything but right.

Maura understands very well the mechanics of what they're doing, lips and tongues and teeth, hearts pumping, hands reaching. It's all very simple, but it doesn't feel that way. It feels like everything all at once. She can't focus on any one thing. She registers Jane's arms drawing her closer, and her own arms wind around the other woman's neck, craving this- this strange new thing, whatever it is, that they have.

Maybe it's the half a beer. That's a good enough excuse for Jane, anyway, even though she knows it isn't that. She isn't even buzzed. Well, she it, but she's pretty sure that has more with the taste of Maura's lips- like cinnamon, she thinks to herself as their bodies press together. She can feel the warmth through their clothes and she doesn't even care anymore that she's making out with her best friend, her coworker. Her brother's almost-ex. None of that matters. She matters, and Maura matters, and that's all.

And for once, Maura _does_ feel like she matters. She's doing something, at least, to someone else that isn't dead. It's a powerful feeling, she thinks, as her hands slide across Jane's shoulders. In response Jane's slender fingers press into her lower back and her teeth come down on Maura's lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from the smaller woman, much to her satisfaction. The only thought in her mind is that she should have done this a long, long time ago.

"This is so stupid," Maura hears Jane's voice but it clearly doesn't mean what it would normally mean because her back is against the seat of the couch and suddenly Jane is hovering over her, their faces inches apart, breaths coming fast and shallow. "Why did we waste our time with those assholes when this was here the whole time?" Maura grins, and leans up to kiss Jane again, just because she can.

"Gay panic," she murmurs, and Jane doesn't bother correcting her. As far as she's concerned, they're not gay. Somewhere in the hallway, Bass decides that he's had enough of walking, and plops down on the hardwood floor with a loud thump and shuffle that makes Jane jump practically three feet in the air, her eyes wide.

Adrenaline rushes like that do crazy things to you, and suddenly Jane realizes that she is on the other side of the couch and Maura is grinning at her, flushed a bright pink. "It was just Bass," she points out, crawling over to Jane, whose eyes widen even further. There's something about that image- Maura, with her perfect decorum and model's wardrobe, _crawling_ on top of her- and probably the adrenaline, too., but whatever it is, Jane's entire body is humming when Maura straddles her hips.

This it when it all catches up with her. This is _Maura_, for God's sake. Her Maura. Maura as in 'talking Google' Maura, the woman who encouraged her mother's eccentric pancakes and hyperventilated when confronted with the need to lie- who's sitting on her, her eyes glittering. She isn't sure if this is horribly wrong or very, very right. Fortunately, Maura isn't going to give her any time to think about it. Within a few breathless moments they're kissing again and Jane forgets all about the stupid turtle.

"You taste," Maura mutters between kisses, "like cheap beer." Jane scoffs and sits up a little because she doesn't like not being in control, and judging by Maura's soft exhale against her lips she's done something right. "My beer is not _cheap_," she counters, "and you wouldn't know because you don't drink beer." Maura laughs quietly and they sit like that for a moment, not uncomfortable, but silent. Something about Jane looks different to Maura, but she can't quite put her finger on it.

She's not sure how this is supposed to work, the two of them. Or if it's going to. It's enough for her that she _wants_ it to work out, and she can tell that Jane's mind is going along the same road. She's considering it, at least, that much is obvious. A look of abject despair crosses her face and Maura almost panics, but she doesn't have to ask.

"What are we doing?" is Jane's question, and Maura doesn't know the answer right away. She only knows, now, to touch. Jane literally trembles when Maura's hand comes up to her cheek, because _she has never been touched like this before_ and she's terrified. And she thinks that Maura might understand that, because what she says next is exactly what Jane needs to hear. "What we want."

And that one sentence means a lot more than it seems like it does. It's a confirmation that yes, they do both want this, and it's a reassurance that they're going to make that work, one way or another. Between the two of them they'll be able to figure it out, and the moment of terror has passed.

In her quest to figure out what's different about Jane, Maura discovers something else, and her fingers rest gently on Jane's jaw as she observes, affectionately, "You're exhausted, Jane." The other woman blinks, and the look on her face is probably the sweetest, most confused look Maura has seen on anyone in her life. "Yeah," the brunette agrees, "I…guess I am. "

They've slept in the same bed before. It's actually not too different this time, except that they immediately find each other beneath the sheets, their legs intertwining, the cool sheets warming against their skin. They fall asleep like that, Maura's nose pressed into Jane's neck, Bass standing sentinel down the hall.

Jane awakes to an intrusion of light and smell. It takes her a few groggy seconds to identify the light as her bathroom light. Three things are coming out of that bathroom door- light, steam, and Maura Isles.

She feels as if she might be dreaming. Maura certainly looks like something out of one of her forbidden dreams, moving through the steam like a goddess, covered only by two towels- one around her body, one holding up her hair. When she sees Jane looking at her she smiles, adjusting the towel around her hair, and moves to stand in front of her. Jane can't quite read the look on her face, but part of that is likely because she's not really awake yet.

"I'm sorry," comes Maura's voice after an unspecified amount of time, though the curve of her soft lips says something different entirely. "I didn't mean to wake you up. You usually sleep through anything." Jane sits up stiffly, and because it's too early for her to even fathom having any kind of manners or subtlety, her eyes wander. A drop of water sneaks out from under the head towel and snakes down Maura's neck. Jane hungers to chase it with her lips, across her neck and collarbone until it disappears beneath the second towel. It's also too early for her to be shocked at the hunger in her own thoughts- she's not. And Maura doesn't seem too shocked by her blatant staring, either.

"Do you usually get up in the middle of the night when you're staying over?"  
>"Yes. I don't often sleep through the night. But like I said, this is the first time it's bothered you."<p>

"It doesn't bother me," Jane replies honestly, rubbing her eyes and running a hand through her tangled hair.

"Physically speaking, it did; it woke you up out of a deep REM sleep."

Jane adds 'doctor speak' to the list of things it's way too early for and collapses gracelessly onto her back once more. For her part, Maura thinks, as she always has, that a half-asleep Jane is by far the cutest thing she's ever seen. And, aesthetically…Jane is sexy. Especially half-awake, with her deep voice roughened by sleep and her eyes half-lidded, her dark hair in unruly waves and curls splayed out around her head. Maura suddenly feels a bit exposed, in just a towel. She hadn't been expecting Jane to wake up, at least not until she was fully dressed, and she hadn't expected that seeing Jane looking at her the way she had would have done such a ridiculous number on her adrenal glands.

She takes a seat beside Jane, tucking her legs neatly underneath her, looking down at the detective, who blinks up at her in turn. Jane alters between taking in the glistening dampness on the skin of Maura's shoulder and back, and actually paying attention to the way Maura is looking at her. "What time is it?"

Maura glances over at the alarm clock across the bed and her towel slips slightly, exposing more of her skin for Jane to ogle until, finally, she realizes what she's doing and gains some sense of shame. "It's two in the morning. We went to bed around eleven."

Something urgent has awoken in Maura, and although she doesn't know it, the same feeling is stirring in Jane. Earlier, even with Maura straddling her, there had been no hunger like she feels it now, gnawing and raw. The plain and simple fact of it is that they want each other, and there is no pretense for avoiding it any longer- no 'exhaustion', no social order to obey in the middle of the night. If it weren't so exciting, it would be terrifying.

And neither of them knows exactly how to go about addressing it. Maura moves first, touching Jane's cheek before she combs her fingers through the brunette's wild hair, a tender smile fixed on her face. Jane doesn't so much as flinch, though her stomach does a flip. The towel slips a little more. Because Maura is occupied, Jane occupies herself- first with a generous eyeful of skin, then with sitting up on her knees.

Maura's hand stays in her hair but doesn't move, just as Maura doesn't move. Jane takes Maura's stillness as a kind of permission, gently taking the towel off her head and discarding it on the other side of the bed. Maura's hair is still damp and warm, and so are Maura's lips when she closes the space between them and kisses her, all her patience gone.

Maura smiles against Jane's lips, glad hat they're making progress but in no particular rush. She likes the teasing, she always has, and she's not bad at it, herself. "You really shouldn't sleep in your clothes," she reprimands, but even Jane, with her considerable lack of people-reading skills, knows that she's playing. "Then fix it," is her quick reply, followed by her quick smile. Her hands settle on Maura's cheeks as she leans in for another kiss. Maura wouldn't be able to say she was surprised by Jane's snark- it's certainly not anything new- but she's distracted, slipping her hands under Jane's top, finally- _finally- _getting to touch those toned abdominal muscles that she's spent so many yoga sessions hyper-focused on. They certainly live up to her expectations, just as she expects the rest of Jane will. She tugs the shirt over Jane's head and sighs softly against the detective's lips, her hands moving over muscle and bone, over Jane's ribs, which rise and fall with her breathing.

Jane can't recall the last time anybody touched her with so much care. She can remember hearing Maura say that Mr. Surgeon-Whoever-He-Was was 'tender' in bed, but she herself had never experienced intimacy with a man that had been anything close to intimate. More like an invasion. Each time had been like the first, awkward fumbling and harsh, sour breath. Already this is so much different. Maura is touching her like she's worthy only of gentleness, and she's damn close to believing it.

She leans forward, pressing Maura back into the bed so she can hover over her the way she had earlier in the night. Maura's lips barely touch hers as they breathe, and because Jane doesn't want to wait, she starts to press her hips down, but Maura doesn't exactly need the urging. She unbuckles Jane's slacks with practiced ease, pushes them off her hips and rests her hands on the ridges of the detective's hipbones as the slacks are kicked away.

Jane wonders if Maura is bare beneath that towel, but she doesn't have long to think about it. Maura reaches around behind her and unhooks her bra just as easily as (of course Jane suddenly has this image in her head) she probably unhooks her own. Maura knows what Jane does not- that the only thing beneath that towel is a pair of panties that she'd hardly consider 'clothing'. The earlier embarrassment at her near nudity is gone- it seems a blessing now, a nod to efficiency, requiring only moments where Jane's clothes had been more of a hassle.

Maura has a thought, somewhere between the haziness of their kisses and the smooth glide of Jane's skin against her own, that she'd prefer it if Jane was never fully clothed again. With that in mind, and knowing that one of Jane's arms was too busy holding her up to be of much use, she wriggles out of the towel and tosses it away, leaning up with both hands on Jane's face to kiss her properly, not any of the slanting, breathing kisses they'd kissed before. She wants Jane to feel what she feels.

Jane feels it. She can almost taste the tang of need on Maura's tongue as it wrestles against her own, all the breath drawn from her body as she concentrates all her passion into returning that kiss. It's still not enough to hold a candle to Maura, whose entire upper body has arched up off the bed. Jane feels Maura's leg hook around hers and before she knows it she's on her back. She knows she has good reflexes, but with most of her currently focused and with no idea at all that Maura could have been planning to turn the tables, she's left surprised, staring up in the brief moment before the space between their lips is closed again.

Maura isn't straddling her, and for a moment Jane is confused before she remembers that she's never actually done this before. Maybe Maura has- she's not going to ask now, but she might ask later, if she remembers- or maybe she hasn't, but either way, the truth is that Maura, as per usual, has a better idea of how things are supposed to work. And Jane, for once in her life, lets someone else lead.

Maura has, in fact, done this once before. But it had been years ago and she's not entirely sure she knows what she's doing, logistically speaking, just that following her instincts has always worked in the bedroom and it ought to be the same in this situation as in any other. She's right. She braces a leg between Jane's, and their bodies lift and surge together like they were made to do that, because, Maura thinks in a moment of clarity, before the haze of arousal drowns her completely, they _are_.

Jane watches as Maura's eyes fall closed, hears her breath hitch in her throat and leans up to kiss her, completely out of control because Maura's just writhing and grinding down on her and it's everything she'd ever told herself not to think about and more. All of her private dreams, the ones she'd wake up and do her very best to forget before she had to go to work and see the object of her very literal desire in the flesh.

Jane's hands settle on Maura's back, and Maura shudders, acutely aware of every callus and every scar, and so close to coming apart. She can name every physical component of that coming apart as it happens, one arm curled around Jane's shoulder to brace herself and the other flung carelessly somewhere along her ribs. The rush of adrenaline that continues, spurs her on, the tension building in every muscle of her body, and finally, mercilessly, the spasms and the rush of dopamine and it's over, she can breathe again, her forehead pressed against Jane's clavicle as she struggles to fill her lungs.

Jane knows none of those terms, but she knows that she's never seen anything more beautiful in her life than the moment that Maura comes apart in her arms like that, knows that Maura is unaware of the little shuddering cry that escapes her lips when she does. She wraps her arms around Maura and takes a deep breath, her whole body buzzing. It's strange how she recognizes parts of this feeling, the arousal and the frustration, but there are still things that are new about it. This goes past arousal and barrels right on through into need, swirling at the pit of Jane's stomach like one of Maura's expensive red wines.

Maura recovers enough to know that and to recognize it, and when she rolls onto her side and pulls Jane close for a moment, the first thing she does is grab Jane's hands and press a kiss to each of her scars- on her right palm, the back of her right hand, her left palm, the back of her left hand. In the midst of their frenzy it's a reminder of their earlier tenderness, a reminder from Maura to Jane that there are things that need to be said still, things that she'd like to say then and there. Jane understands and she smiles, pushes away the tears that prick at the back of her eyes and the urge to say 'thank you' for no reason at all.

Maura kisses her, slowly and deeply, and waits a few minutes before she takes her place hovering over Jane once more, their noses brushing as they make eye contact. Jane recognizes the look in Maura's eyes and almost jumps out of her skin. That's a smolder for sure, but it's not what surprises her. What surprises her is how familiar that look is, and it only takes her a breathless moment to realize that Maura's been giving her that look for weeks. She can't even begin to fathom how she missed it before Maura's kissing her and distracting her, once again braced up with only one arm, leaving one hand free.

Maura keeps her eyes open when her fingers find their destination and Jane's lips leave hers, because she wants to see what Jane looks like when she has absolutely no control over anything. It's perfect, the way her eyes darken and her lips part in a soft gasp. Maura angles her hand and pushes upward, and Jane reacts accordingly, eyes fluttering closed as she presses her head back, hard, into the mattress.

With her neck exposed like that, Maura can't help but take advantage. She finds, with considerable delight, that Jane's hips rock in rhythm with her hand when she leans down and presses her lips to where her common carotid artery flutters in time with her pulse. It is a cacophony of rhythm and Maura loves every second of it, every second of control that she has. It's not just about control- it's about making Jane feel something and seeing the immediate results.

Jane is unaware of everything except their bodies, as one single thing, but she does notice the soft touch of Maura's lips and she does react to it, knowing that she won't last long and knowing now that it was the months and months of verbal foreplay that have wound her so tightly. She arches up off the bed, feels Maura's free hand trail along the curve of her spine, and at the gentle urging of her lips and touch she hits her peak with a breathless moan, fingers digging into Maura's lower back.

The rest of it is just as natural. They lay facing each other, knees and noses touching. Maura took Jane's hands again and held them tightly enough to feel her pulse. Jane's are bigger, big enough that she can curl her fingers almost all the way around Maura's, whose hands, unlike hers, are soft and untouched. "You're a damn tease," Jane murmured. It's the first time either of them has spoken in a while, and Maura is struck, as if she's only heard it for the first time, by how much she loves Jane's voice. Everything about her, in fact.

"I thought I was being pretty obvious."  
>"Oh, please."<br>"Does 'unzip me' ring any bells, Jane?"  
>"Well…"<br>"How about, 'I like Tommy, but I love you'?"

She didn't mean to say it that way. She meant to really say it, just to come out with it, but she can already see Jane understands her. The detective's eyes brighten and lift to Maura's face. "I didn't think you meant it like _that_," she replied, a smile creeping onto her face.

"Well, I did. I do. I love you, Jane."  
>"Oh."<p>

They fall silent again for a while. Jane's fingertips move over the backs of Maura's hands, and eventually she hooks a leg around Maura's and intertwines them completely, pressing their foreheads together.

"I love you, too, you know."  
>"Yes, I think I knew that."<p>

Jane sighs softly, shaking her head.

"Only you would answer like that."  
>"Like what?"<br>"Like you."


End file.
